


Welcome Home

by argle_fraster



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e07 Currents, F/M, Fix-it fic, Gen, silly things i write, wolf headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argle_fraster/pseuds/argle_fraster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boyd wakes up in a clearing covered in moonlight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home

There’s light dancing across the meadow and the tang of dew in the air, sharp and damp against his noise, and he breathes in, because he remembers this, remembers the hone of his senses that those months in the vault had stripped from him. There’s moonlight around him, and standing in the ring of it, he feels at home; he feels untouchable.

He probably shouldn’t feel untouchable. He looks down at his shirt, and it’s clean, but he knows it shouldn’t be. It should be stained crimson, just like the rest of him: torn flesh and long gashes. Derek’s claws. He presses at the skin there, trying to feel his way around, but he feels nothing.

"Hey," Erica says, and steps into the light. It makes her hair look more silver than gold, and there’s something ironically beautiful in that. She’s wearing the smirk he always liked so much - it was his favorite on her, natural and easy. “Been awhile."

"Yeah," Boyd answers.

She tilts her head to one side, one corner of her mouth rising. She looks the way he remembers, before the vault. Leather and denim, always more fighter than thinker, vivacious and dangerous and alive. “Sorry about everything."

"No," he tells her, and shakes his head. “I’m not sorry about it."

She laughs, and it sounds good. It sounds normal. “I didn’t think you would be. But I missed you, you know? It was lonely without you here."

"You put up a good fight," Boyd says.

"So did you," she tells him, and smiles. It’s more genuine this time. Boyd looks around, taking in the closed circle of the trees that surround the open grass, and the ring of perfect moonlight falling in the center. It’s a full moon, but it shouldn’t be.

"What is this place?" he asks.

Erica holds out her hand, palm up. “It’s us. It’s always been us, hasn’t it?"

"I don’t believe in heaven," Boyd says, seriously, though part of him knows it’s a lie - because if there was no heaven, nothing after, then his sister would have simply disappeared from existence. And he can’t handle that, anymore than he could handle Erica’s light being extinguished.

But here she is, fire and brimstone and bright, shining eyes, and she’s waiting for him.

He takes her hand; it’s warm, just like he remembers.

"It’s not heaven," she says, and tumbles of her hair fall over her shoulder. She’s laughing, a bit, at him, and he doesn’t mind, because it’s so good to hear the sound. “It’s just life - another part of it. The part we were meant to have."

"Together," he says, and means it this time. He’s always meant it.

Her eyes crinkle up when her fingers close tight around his own. “Together," she repeats.

—

It isn’t until later, when Stiles is angry and desperate and furious, at everything and nothing and all the things in-between, that he finds himself in the woods. It’s the dumbest place for him to be with a warring alpha pack on the loose and Peter Hale as an unknown, dangerous entity somewhere in the night, and he still would rather be there than the stifling four walls of his bedroom. There, he’ll just think about everything, and be unable to turn his brain off. Here, there’s the trees and the smell of fresh rain on damp earth, and the sliver of the moon in the sky, suspended over the tops of the branches.

When he sees the first track, his reaction is to freeze and turn to run, because it’s fresh in the mud. Then he leans closer and brushes away the leaves - because he’s gotten good at this, taking in the small details, the things he used to miss. He has to be now, since everything is so fragile around him. He traces the outline of the paw print and it’s not Kali’s clawed toes or the twins’ heavyset Doc Martens. It’s a full-on wolf print, the kind California has never seen before.

Stiles looks up, and sees them in the moonlight: silhouettes against the foggy, heavy air.

He doesn’t breathe, and neither do they, and he just knows, way down in his bones. It’s the way it should have been - all or nothing, none of this crap in the middle. They are wild and free and together, and as they turn to run away, he can’t even force a sound out of his rapidly constricting throat.

Maybe he’ll tell Derek - someday. When things are less raw, less open. When the Alpha pack is gone and Peter is dealt with, and he knows the information will really sink in.

He stands, and he feels a little bit better.

When he hears them howl at the barely-visible moon, he smiles.


End file.
